


There's No Fool Like An April Fool

by DixieDale



Category: The Persuaders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-19 11:21:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18135086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: Realizing the upcoming date, Lord Brett Sinclair determined this year would be different. There would be none of this April Fools nonsense THIS time around!  Or at least, HE didn't intend to be the one wearing the face of the Fool!





	There's No Fool Like An April Fool

**Part 1 - Squirming in Anticipation:**

**POV: Lord Brett Sinclair**

****April Fools' Day was around the corner, and frankly Lord Brett Sinclair was a little tense. He disliked the idea of someone trying to make him appear foolish.  It wasn't a natural look or a particularly attractive one for him, in his opinion, so this was one of his least favorite holidays. No, actually, he disliked this so-called holiday immensely, had since he was little more than a boy and had been squirted by a trick fountain pen given to him by his cousin Albert.

He'd spent all of his adult life avoiding such moments whenever it was possible, and it usually was.

Well, until he'd met Daniel Wilde, the rough and tumble American with a penchant for women, gambling, fighting, and it would appear, childish pranks you would have thought he would have outgrown many years ago, and then things changed. Even in the usual course of their interaction, Lord Sinclair ended up with the proverbial egg on his face more often than he would like.

And as for April Fools' Day? No matter how much Lord Sinclair protested, Daniel seemed to take what SHOULD have been an otherwise uneventful day on the calendar as a challenge to make Brett Sinclair's life miserable. Last year, the first 'April Fools' Day - Danny Wilde fashion' Lord Sinclair had experienced was something he did NOT want to repeat!

Who would forget waking up in his darkened bedroom, slightly bleary-eyed from the champagne he'd indulged in the night before, reaching over to switch on his bedside lamp and finding a huge disgusting insect had crawled up inside the shade??!

Discovering it was merely a black sillouette taped there, not a genuine four inch cockroach did not improve his disposition, though it did let his heartbeat slow down a little. But only a little, for, as he bit off tersely, "that is an antique Tiffany Peacock Feather lamp that has been in my family for a great many years, Daniel! One does not 'tape' things to a Tiffany!"

And, no matter WHAT Daniel had claimed, Lord Sinclair had NOT squealed like a little girl when he'd seen that bug!!! Anyway, Daniel had spent the night in the guest room, of course, this being well before anything more personal had existed between them; how would HE have known just how shrill that initial sound of alarm had been??! Brett avoided asking, not really wanting to hear that his sometimes partner-in-crime (so to speak) had been waiting with his ear to the door just for that very moment.

The plastic soap in the shower had been annoying, of course, and finding his luxuriously thick and absorbent sapphire blue bath towels had been replaced by folded pieces of water-repelling felt in the same deep blue, (but only after he'd already gone into the shower!) hadn't improved his mood.

He'd been fuming by the time he sat down to the table, but at least Daniel hadn't taken any liberties with his breakfast, and although Brett had taken only the tiniest suspicious sip of his morning coffee at first, there seemed to be no outlandish ingredients added there.

His high-performance Aston Martin DBS had also gone unscathed, thankfully. And except for that annoying telephone call with a mysterious voice asking some absurd question about whether his 'refrigerator was running', and then making some equally absurd suggestion, the day passed peacefully enough.

By mid afternoon Brett had started to relax, thinking Daniel had gotten all that nonsense out of his system. That was before he had taken a glass of Scotch, the mail and the newspaper over to the lush blue couch to enjoy a few moments of peace before he had to leave for an appointment. The air horn somehow connected to that whoopee cushion concealed under the matching blue velvet throw had not invoked peace, though it had necessitated a cleaning up of the spilled Scotch. Needless to say, although Daniel thought it a huge giggle, Brett Sinclair was NOT amused!

The final straw, for Lord Sinclair, had been coming back from that late afternoon appointment with his barber, opening the door and finding himself showered with a bucket of sticky confetti and glitter. His suit was now destined for the cleaners, and his hair?? It had taken two shampooings and another emergency trip to his barber to make things right again, and Daniel's proclamation that "you know, Your Lordship, you shoulda just left it! You look GOOD with glitter in your hair! It just reflects your sparkling personality!" hadn't been particularly comforting.

It hadn't helped a great deal, in fact had made Brett even more uneasy, when, two days later, Daniel had enthusiastically explained the pranks he'd NOT put in play.

"See, there's this chalk they make that matches the leather upholstery on your ride; you puff it all over the driver's seat, and you can't tell, til you get out and the back of that fancy grey suit of yours is all covered in dark chalk! I thought that was maybe a little much, though. And I stayed away from salt in the coffee or strings in the pancakes; I know how you need your breakfast in the morning! Or the fake dog shit on top of your morning paper; that's really just kinda gross to my way of thinking. And there were a few other things, you know, but I know you aren't used to celebrating April Fools' Day, so I thought I'd start easy, get you used to the idea, let it grow on you."

Somehow Lord Brett Sinclair didn't see that happening.

 

This year, Brett was on the alert. Although he'd taken great pains to remind Daniel that he DID not want a repeat of the prior year's performance, he just didn't trust the twinkle in the American's elfin blue eyes. Surely, though, with the newfound depth of their relationship, Daniel would comply with Brett's wishes.

The Englishman kept trying to assure himself of that, but somehow, he just didn't really believe it. Somehow he'd gotten the impression the closer Daniel got to someone, the more he wanted them to join in the 'fun', or at least those activities HE considered fun. And, for better or for worse, Brett Sinclair was about as 'close' to Daniel Wilde as anyone was likely to be. Lord Sinclair wasn't sure whether it WAS better or worse, and in fact, even saying those words to himself, much less out loud, made him extremely uncomfortable, though he wasn't quite sure why.

Then, the thought had occurred to him. If they weren't even IN London, were away from the flat they now shared 'temporarily' (although that 'temporarily' was stretching out to something quite different than the usual definition of the word), Daniel would be less able to set up any little April Fools' Day pranks. And Brett Sinclair had just the way to arrange that!

He'd been intending for some time now to take a tour of various of the Sinclair properties he had inherited from hither and yon over the past few years. Many he had only visited once or twice, a couple not at all, and it was time he took a better look.

Oh, not for the purpose of deciding which, if any of them, to liquidate; Sinclairs did not let go of land and houses so easily, and many of them were entailed so he could not have done so anyway. While he sincerely doubted he would ever have children to inherit after him, still there was a never-ending line of Sinclairs waiting in the wings, for the titles, the properties, for whatever wasn't personally his to pass along. He'd once arranged them in order, after that rather nasty affair with one of the more enterprising (and deadly) of his relatives, and came up with more than two hundred in line, before he became bored and set the project aside. Unless there was another outbreak of bloodshed, he was content to let someone else deal with all that after his own demise.

Still, some of the more recently acquired properties (ie within the past ten years or so) didn't have a regular staff, one or two even lacked so much as a caretaker, and of those that did have a staff, well, a visit from the owner now and again could surely do no harm. Let him be a face, a voice, at least, if only faintly remembered or recognized, not just the name on a check or a piece of stationery.

So, he gathered a list together, outlining the extensive road trip that would be involved, making sure April 1st fell squarely in the middle. He'd shared the idea, the proposed itinerary with Daniel, and while the American had seemed a little suspicious of Sinclair's motives at first, he quickly warmed to the idea of a road-trip together, became enthusiastic even. Daniel did seem to have a never-ending abundance of enthusiasm; Brett complained frequently that it was rather exhausting, in fact.

What Sinclair hadn't mentioned was that, in addition to the shared itinerary, he had developed a few alternate routes. He fully intended to switch routes by the end of March, on some pretext or another, so that April 1st would NOT be spent where his pesky friend thought it would.

After all, he knew quite well how inventive, how cunning, well, alright, how downright sneaky Daniel Wilde could be! It wouldn't be unlike the American to somehow make plans for Wilsham Place, where that original itinerary indicated they would be on the fatal day!

Well, just look at Christmas! Look at how they'd ended up in that little place in London, 'Odellinn', when Brett thought they surely must be in Wales or maybe Scotland from the distance they'd driven! Yes, of course, he had to admit that HAD turned out to be quite a lovely experience, but April Fools Day wasn't Christmas! Any gift boxes were more likely to contain a rubber snake ready to spring forth rather than sugar plums or chocolate cremes.

And then there was Valentines Day, which hadn't turned out at all like what Brett had planned. Well, not the first half anyway. Though he couldn't really blame Daniel for that entirely; it WAS Brett who somehow managed to overlook giving his partner that special invitation, which led to the misunderstanding, then the bar fight . . . Well, you get the picture.

Still, it had ended well. Danny had looked rather pleased with himself AND with Sinclair, both laying there, laughing, drinking champagne in the middle of those white sheets sprinkled with red rose petals. And the American had been wearing that watch Brett had given him, the one with the special inscription inside, though nothing else.

Brett smiled to himself, remembering the next day back at the flat, when Danny had brought out HIS Valentines Day present.

  
****"Well, it doesn't appear to be a watch," Sinclair opined, looking at the carefully wrapped box, about the size of a picnic hamper.

"Well, go on, open it," Danny demanded, almost bouncing in his eagerness.

Sinclair was laughing at Danny's enthusiasm, then lifted the cover and froze.

"The Adams Rose tea set. Why . . ." He ran his fingers gently over the tea pot and the other pieces, holding up the sugar bowl, remembering. Taking off the lid, he smiled at the fresh packets of brown sugar crystals inside.

Danny admitted, "it's not complete, and the creamer has a chip, but I figured you might like it for your morning coffee, or maybe expresso. Maybe even tea sometimes," he'd quipped. Those watchful blue eyes were on Brett's face, hoping he'd guessed right.

Sinclair cleared his throat. "It's delightful, Daniel. I'm sure we will use it for many things. And I know the perfect spot for it."

He'd promptly cleared away several objects from the sideboard, including a perfectly elegant tea set with no chips and all the pieces intact. THAT went into a closed cupboard and could be pulled out if needed. THIS set, this he wanted out where he could see it every day.

{"Imagine him remembering,"} knowing it was the remembering that was as much the gift as the tea set itself; no, even more. He smiled, thinking back to the day they'd passed that antique shop and the sight of the seen-better-days Adams Rose tea set had caught his eye. He'd been tempted to go in, but they had been rushed to meet with the judge, were already behind schedule. He promised himself he would go back, but their assignment had them away for quite some time, and when he did make it back, it wasn't there anymore.

Danny had been curious, of course, and somehow in one of the down times on the job, Sinclair found himself telling the whole story.

"And, although she had many fine tea sets, that was her favorite. She would always use that set, the Adams Rose, when I came to visit, and the sugar bowl held brown sugar crystals just for me. She always promised she'd leave it to me in her will."

"But she didn't?" Danny had asked, sipping at his drink, waiting for the rest of the story.

"My Uncle Richard destroyed it several years before she died, smashed it to pieces. It seems he was taking a peek at her journals from their early married years (quite bad form, of course!), and discovered the set had been given to her by a neighbor and close family friend, Adam Montgomery, in celebration of my cousin's birth. Somehow, rather surprisingly in fact, my Uncle Richard, who was admittedly never the brightest candle in the family sconce, finally made the connection and figured out what many others in the family had known for years. You see, my cousin's name is Rose; you've met her - lovely red hair she has, of a rather distinctive shade. A shade that shows up quite frequently among the Montgomery family, and occasionally in a few select others."

"Did they get a divorce?" Danny inquired, always fascinated by the peeks Brett gave him into British uppercrust family life.

"What? Oh, no. Aunt Roselyn didn't believe in divorce. She crowned him with the fireplace poker, I believe. Unfortunately, though, not in time to save the tea set. As I recall, she put it about to the neighbors that he'd had too much brandy and tipped over into the andirons, and then back over the tea table, shattering everything on it to bits. Along with his own skull, of course. She was quite upset about that tea set; I remember her telling me on the day of his funeral how she regretted most dreadfully not being able to pass it on to me like she'd promised."

Danny had stared suspiciously and shook his head rapidly as if to clear away cobwebs. He often didn't know how much of what Sinclair told him about his family was true, but it was fun trying to figure it out.

He watched as the British Lord, smiling with genuine pleasure, ran his fingers over the china pieces. {"Yeah, it was worth running around finding out who'd bought that set, convincing them to sell it to me for three times what they'd paid. For that look on his face, it was worth it!"}  
****

  
Danny had become quite enthusiastic about the road trip, had noted with great interest all the places they'd be visiting, asking lots of questions, even suggested he look into any spots along the route they might want to visit, historic landmarks, places to stop and eat, have a pint. It was with that supposed intent he'd spent so much time in the small library at the back of Sinclair's living room, a place that held not just books, but also maps, AND the bound records concerning each of the properties held in the name of Brett Sinclair. Those records included plat maps, architects' renderings, inventories, staffing, amenities, and much, much more.

Brett had watched in amusement, knowing Danny was secretly looking over the plans to Wilsham Place, any information about the house and grounds, making a few plans of his own. (He refused to dwell on just how utterly adorable Danny looked, peering through those glasses he only put on for close work, or on how hard it might be to induce Danny to wear the glasses to bed!)

Well, that was fine! Let him spend his energy developing some foolish schemes for the Place. That would just mean he wouldn't be having any notion about Garganey View, the property where Sinclair INTENDED them to end up on the evening of March 31st, and if not there, then at Gadwall Oaks.

Devils' Court would be conveniently at hand, perhaps more so than Gadwall Oaks, AND was fully staffed, but he shuddered at what that place might inspire in his roommate, maybe not just for the first of April, but there was always Halloween! No, Halloween surely must NOT be spent at Devils' Court, not with the history of THAT place! Oh, the current staff poo-poo'd all the stories, but four hundred years of Sinclairs couldn't be THAT wrong! And that housekeeper - yes, she was the daughter and granddaughter (and so on) of the previous housekeepers, but must she look so VERY like those other women who'd held the position before her??? At least, that's what the journals all said, with the various Sinclairs down through the years remarking on the resemblance to that portrait in the library. Of course, the story of why there was a portrait of the housekeeper in the library in the first place was a most remarkable one, one that had always given Brett Sinclair a few chills all on its own. 

So on the 15th of March, they'd loaded the car and headed out, Danny teasing about what Brett might have planned.

"I know you don't think I've got any culture, but I've heard about the Ideas of March! Planning something with a toga and a knife, Your Lordship?"

"It's the IDE'S of March, Daniel, not the IDEAS of March," Sinclair fumed, glaring at the grinning man in the passenger seat. Why he let himself be teased and goaded like this, he just did not know! He suppressed the small grin he felt twitching at his own mouth at the sight of Daniel quirking that mocking brow at him.

Brett had made a point of sending Daniel on a small errand earlier that morning, just so he'd have a chance to go through Daniel's bags, make sure there were no 'surprises' he needed to be aware of. (Yes, bad form, but totally justifiable under the circumstances, surely!) After all, whoopie cushions and such things were quite adaptable to whichever residence they found themselves on the dreaded 1st of April! He'd found nothing out of the ordinary - just the American's overly elaborate wardrobe, toiletries, a couple of books and some blank notecards and envelopes - nothing suspicious, which to Brett Sinclair's mind was suspicious in and of itself. Well, he DID have plenty of experience with Daniel and his sense of humor!

The basket of edibles he discounted; Danny knew better than to tamper with their wine or their treats! The supply of strawberry lube was equally out of the question. The very notion of any alterations there made Sinclair shudder! Daniel had arrived with the tin of special tea Brett had sent him after and they were off!

  
**POV: Danny Wilde**

  
Sometimes he thought Brett didn't have any idea of how to really have fun! So, yeah, the British Lord could drink his share, threw a wicked punch, and could chase women with the best of them. Hell, turned out the high-and-mighty Lord Sinclair enjoyed a little Danny-time too, along with all those women, which frankly the American was more than happy to discover! There was just something about a rumpled and sweaty and panting Lord Brett Sinclair, especially when that condition was caused by one Danny Wilde and NOT one of the Judge's wild escapades. In fact, that was fast becoming Danny's favorite picture of his dignified partner.

But, the 'fun for fun's sake' kinda stuff? The pranks and jokes and just plain fooling around stuff? Naw, Brett didn't really get all of that, and Danny thought it was about time someone weaned him away from all that stuffiness his born-to-the-purple upbringing had instilled in him.

Why, last year, even though Danny had taken it real easy on him, introducing him to just a couple of the yuks a good April Fools' Day prank could be, His Lordship had just not gotten with the program!

And this year? Oh, Danny could read the handwriting on the wall as good as the next Joe. This year Brett was intending to put a spoke in the wheel of any little fun Danny might come up with! Well, Brett Sinclair had a thing or two more to learn about Danny Wilde, including when he put his mind to someone learning to have fun, they doggone well learned to have fun!

This road trip Brett had come up with, yeah, that was a case in point. Making sure they were away from familiar surroundings on the days leading up to the holiday, as well as on the 1st itself? That was easy to spot! And that itinerary he'd been shown a copy of? Yeah, right! Like he was a dummy! He'd lay a hundred to one that they would NOT be where that itinerary said they'd be, not on April 1st anyway!

Well, that wasn't going to slow him down, no sirree, Bob! HE would just come up with a few ideas that it wouldn't matter WHERE they were! And not only that, he figured he was smart enough to figure out where they'd most likely end up, at least narrow it down. Shouldn't be too hard, not as well as he knew how Brett's mind worked, and that library had plenty of information on all the various properties. He was sure he'd come up with some real fun ideas!

And he'd made another decision, considering how things were between them now. There was absolutely no reason a person couldn't come up with their own riff on a holiday, like maybe combining some romance with some laughs. Danny had some ideas for that too, some ideas, a bottle of wine, some special treats. Oh yeah!

Yes, this year was going to be even better than last year, and THIS year, even Lord Stuffed Shirt was going to find himself enjoying the day!

For each of the locations he figured they might end up at, he'd developed a plan. Each of them was similar in concept to the route he'd planned out in their Christmas travels, long, circuitous, ending up far closer to the starting point of the journey than you'd think.

He'd read something like that, in a Heron Carvic story, he'd thought, that was what the English in general liked. Maybe not that exactly, but something like that, anyway. Anyhow, close enough. And no, he wasn't given to reading cozy English mysteries featuring elderly school mistresses, but the airport shop had been ready to close and the shelves had been pretty bare, and he'd just grabbed the first thing within reach to help him deal with a long, boring flight. That he'd finished the entire book, even picked up a few of the others when they came on the stands, that was something no one needed to know.

Now he had things planned out for any of the three possible places he thought they might end up, none of them being Wilsham Place. At the last minute, he went back and put one together FOR Wilsham Place; just like Brett to try and fake him out!

His plans went something like this: where to start with the first clue, where to leave the others, in order, and where he wanted Brett to end up. That basket containing the wine, the treats, blankets and pillows, the strawberry lube, that would be waiting at the last landmark wherever they landed.

.Devil's Court: {"sounds more like something for Halloween! Hey! Now there's an idea!"}. Handkerchief; Rose Arch; Bat House (and how appropriate was that??!); Duck Pond; Carriage House

.Garganey View: Pillow; Swing; Dovecott; Ruin; Folly

.Gadwall Oaks: Washing Up Pitcher; Sundial; Potting Shed; Secret Garden; Gazebo

.Wilsham Place: Breakfast Table; Bird Houses; Rose Garden; Row Boat Dock; Screened Terrace

He had his little box of notecards with the clues already written out, not that Brett would know that since the cards were each tucked into their own little envelope, back to front so they looked blank. Loose pins in the back of the box for securing the notes if need be. Extra cards and ink pens should it turn out any of those places wouldn't work as well as it sounded from the files. He was all set! This was going to be a load of giggles! And Lord Brett Sinclair was going to have fun whether he wanted to or not!

 

** Part 2 - The Journey/Arrival **

Each place on the itinerary had been an experience of one sort or another. Even calling ahead to notify the staff (in the cases where there was a staff) of their pending arrival hadn't been enough to prevent the shock of them actually arriving. Obviously Sinclair had left this little inspection tour go for far too long.

Mandeville House was a prime example; two quite elderly men trying to run and maintain an establishment easily requiring six at least part-time staff in addition to those. It was tidy and well kept, but obviously managing that took everything they had. It was with smiles of pleasure all around that he gave them permission, nay, instructions, to hire on whoever they thought best suited for the jobs. Mandeville House was a delightful small property; he could easily see he and Daniel spending some time there on occasion.

Tourlands was quite the opposite; it HAD a full staff, but was obviously being woefully mismanaged. The verges were overgrown, the rooms smelled musty, the inhabitants surly at his interrupting the normal routine of their lives. Sinclair made a note to get his agents on this one; there would be new faces here within a short time.

Fairheart had no caretaker, and was probably too small to require one, though it DID need someone taking a look and a care now and again. By now, having gone too long without such, the roof was storm-damaged and the floor obviously weak with rot. Any plans they had to spent the night quickly vanished and they ended up at the village pub. A lucky encounter with Mr. Morris, pub owner, mayor, and general village factotum, led to plans for the cottage to be inspected and a list of suggestions sent to Sinclair at his London residence.

"You think they can save it?" Danny asked. "Is that one of the places you can't tear down or sell?"

"I can't sell it, no, and I can't imagine who'd want to buy it anyway, not in the condition it's in. But I CAN have it repaired and put to let, or demolished if it's too far gone. We'll have to see. It certainly can't be left as it is, and I would like to save it.  One of my great-uncles built it for his illegitimate daughter, Diane Tremont.  She became an actress, kept it as a retreat, and passed it on to her own illegitimate daughter.  I believe Marianne lived there until she married the Third Earl of Wesham.  It passed it back to the family after that, of course."

Sinclair noted, once again, just how expensive being the recipient of all those residuary bequests could get, especially when the property itself brought in no income to offset the expenses.

They were getting closer to the end of the month, and April 1st kept coming to the front of their minds, though it was never discussed. Wilsham Place would be quite a trek, getting there in time, so it had to be one of the other three, and knowing Brett as he did, Danny figured the man would be avoiding Devil's Court. That left Garganey View and Gadwall Oaks, both of which he was quite prepared for, his little notecards all in place.

{"Yeah, tomorrow I should be able to tell where we'll end up."} Danny thought, leaning back against the seat and closing his eyes.

{"I wonder what is causing that smirk?"} Sinclair thought as he expertly wheeled the car through the countryside. At the point where he had to make his move, either toward Garganey View or Gadwall Oaks, he swung the car to the right. {"Garganey View it is, then."}

Garganey View was another place with just an elderly couple, Corbin and Amy Connery in charge, extra help being hired on a day basis from the nearby village. Still, in contrast to some of the others, this was very well-kept. The rooms were fresh-smelling, the furniture and woodwork dusted and polished, the linen well-aired, their welcome polite and hesitantly warm. They'd not had a Sinclair visit in a very, very long time, but the couple thought this gentleman and his friend were a pleasant sort. They'd already arranged for the larder to be replenished in preparation, and they would provide service to the very best of their abilities, including answering the rather unusual questions Mr. Wilde seemed to have about the property.

  
** Part 3 - April Fools' Day: **

The day came with grey clouds and a hint of rain in the air. "Danny, perhaps we could . . ." Brett Sinclair blinked rapidly, realizing he was alone in the bed. Well, except for a notecard on the pillow beside him. Rubbing his eyes to clear them, he opened the card and groaned. No, obviously the American had NOT gotten over the notion of celebrating April Fools Day.

"Well, he's just going to have to do it without me," he grumbled. The clue wasn't hard to decipher, but HE didn't intend to play any little games.

"Excuse me, sir?" Connery asked, arriving at the door with a small pot of coffee, but with only one cup. Obviously Connery knew he'd be alone.

"Oh, nothing, Connery. Have you seen Mr. Wilde this morning?" he asked casually.

"Oh, yes, sir. He was down quite early. I believe he said he was going to go for a walk."

"Hmmm. Well, I believe I will have my breakfast in the small dining room; in about an hour, shall we say?"

"Very good, My Lord," Connery acknowledged. "Will Mr. Wilde be joining you?"

"Well, that is rather up to him, but for now let's assume not," came a sly smile. {"Let him come back to no breakfast prepared, once he realizes I'm not going to play his little games!"}

By the time he'd breakfasted and made a sortee through the house, Brett was rather expecting to see a pouting Daniel coming through the door. That didn't happen, and when Mrs. Connery was starting to lay the table for a light luncheon for two, he was getting more than a little annoyed. Playing games was one thing, but it was quite discourteous to impose on Mrs. Connery, having her prepare lunch for him if he wasn't going to come back in time.

Sinclair found himself muttering, "perhaps he made his way into the village, had lunch there. Well, if he expects me to come chasing after him, he's quite mistaken." A congenial conversation with Connery about the land and general affairs, the local situation passed some time, but by the time two o'clock came round, Lord Sinclair was finding his annoyance mixed with some trepidation. It was unlike Daniel to be this patient with him; usually he would have the American up in his face, hands on hips, giving him one of his frequent lectures on being a stuffed-shirt.

Reluctantly he went back to the bedroom to retrieve that note, read it again, and set out for the swing at the far side of the rose garden. Another note there told him he was on the right track and that the dovecott was the next stop. There was a faint mist coming down, but Sinclair tightened his lips and forged forward. He was going to have a few crisp words for his partner when he caught up with him.

It took awhile at the dovecott before he saw the flash of white from that cubby hole. Reading it, realizing he was now headed for that old ruin, he realized he was being led in a circle. Well, somehow that seemed about right, and if he guess correctly, the final stop would be that painted folly back near the house. He decided to short-circuit the effort, considering the approaching rain, and cut across directly toward that destination.

The basket, the wine, and all else that was there waiting, told him he'd been correct insofar as it went. However, the fact that his partner was NOT waiting along with the basket, that was alarming. He turned his face into the rising wind, and quickly made his way toward the ruin, the only spot he'd not visited in his trek.  
  
He stopped to take stock, noting with deep irritation the drizzle was getting stronger now, trying to turn itself into a full-out rain. Scanning the area around him, he found his eyes catching at something odd, something out of place. Surely that had been a building before, or at least a copy of one - the ruin. Now, only a pile of rubble remained, and there was something odd even about that.

"Danny," Brett breathed softly, now seeing one hand, part of a leg protruding from the tumbled heap that was all that remained of that old ruin his great-aunt Agatha had thought was such a cunning addition to the grounds.

"Danny!"  That came out as a shout.

He'd gone from a dead stop to an all-out run, coming to a halt only when he was close enough to drop to his knees and touch that bloodied hand.

There was a pulse. Thank God there was a pulse! He remembered once again that this was one of the properties staffed only by an elderly couple, with a weekly visit by a groundskeeper, others only on an as-needed basis. There was no one to help, no one within earshot anyway. Danny had no one to depend on except him, and he had taken so long, far too long to come after him.

The cold drizzle had now turned to a steady downpour, Brett's carefully arranged hair plastered against his head and over his forehead, his clothing now soaked through to his skin. If he was cold, chilled to the bone, what must Danny be feeling?

There was no time to focus on that, no time for anything except carefully removing one piece of rubble after the other, clearing more space for Danny to breathe, for Brett to finally see his face. A snowy handkerchief quickly became blood and grime filled, Brett's jacket removed to shield his friend from the rain, and that fine custom-made shirt Brett was wearing quickly became something fit only to be torn into rags.

But finally he was able to pull Danny free, turn him over carefully, to see those blue eyes flutter open, to hear a faint, "well, took you long enough, kid. What happened, couldn't read my writing?"

He could hardly recognize his own voice, "yes, well, I've been meaning to speak with you about your penmanship, Danny."

  
** Part 4 - Aftermath: **

After the doctor had gone, Brett had poured a small glass of brandy for his rather battered and bruised friend (and a rather larger one for himself).

"Talk about bringing down the house!" Danny had commented ruefully, laying back against the massed pillows in the big bed they'd shared the night before. "I think I broke your ancestral ruin, Your Dukeship."

"Yes, well, it wasn't in the best of condition in the first place, Daniel. I wouldn't worry about it too much. Though it seems to have done a goodly amount of damage in return. It appears we'll be here a little longer than I'd intended."

Sinclair's smile was still a little tentative, his voice more than a little husky. Well, Danny's smile was a little less exuberant than usual too, for that matter. Having that much stone and rock and moss and dirt collapse on top of you will do that to the perkiest of dispositions, enthusiasm notwithstanding.

Brett Sinclair wasn't going to worry about it at all, the disintegration of the ruin, except to have his agents start checking his other properties to see what other deathtraps his family might have left laying around. He shuddered to think what would have happened if someone else had ventured there alone, perhaps a child, a hiker or birdwatcher. After all, just how often would the caretakers be likely to go out to that old ruin? How long before the unfortunate victim would have been found?

He steadfastly refused to think about what could have happened if HE had been any longer in finding his friend, if he'd continued in his stubborn resolve not to play Daniel's little games. Even now, the doctor had warned to be aware of any signs of infection at the numerous cuts and abrasions, of pneumonia, or more.

And as for Danny Wilde, well, Brett Sinclair made a solemn vow to keep a much better eye on his friend, his lover. And if that meant walking into the occasional trap, getting showered with a bucket of confetti, ending up with plastic insects in his cocktail glass, picking up the telephone to hear oddly juvenile teasing at the other end, well, so be it. Danny was well worth putting up with all that nonsense.

Though the thought of Halloween DID make him cringe just a little.

  
** Epilogue: **

  
Later that night, Danny Wilde's dreams took him back to the moment when the stonework had shifted, given way under his weight, had tossed him to the ground and proceeded to swallow him.

{"Where's Brett, he should be here, the notes, the clues should have led him this far by now. No, this wasn't where it was all supposed to end, that was in the folly behind the house, with the wine already waiting, and the basket of treats, and the warm throws and pillows and everything else to turn this from April Fools' Day back to another Valentine's Day."}

Now it seemed he was the fool, because it seemed as if Brett wasn't coming after him, not this time.

{"Where the hell is he? Didn't he find the note, didn't he even notice I'm missing? If he'd been following the clues, he couldn't miss seeing where the wall gave way."}

A cold drizzling rain was starting to fall, dripping through the rubble pinning him to the ground. He could tell the difference from the dripping of the rain from the blood, easily enough, simply because one was cold, the other far too warm. Then, he couldn't tell anymore, his whole being caught up in wondering {"where is he, he should be here, why isn't he here?"}. He never even realized when he started whispering that out loud, instead of just inside his mind.

Then, a firm hand on his shoulder, a familiar voice, "it's alright, Danny. I'm right here. You're safe. Go back to sleep," and warmth from another body moving up closer to his helped ease the chill, and he sighed in relief, and went back to sleep.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, the switch back and forth from 'Daniel' to 'Danny' and back again is deliberate. While WE think of him as Danny, just as HE does, Lord Sinclair is just a more formal individual. Still, more and more Brett Sinclair is THINKING of his partner as 'Danny', though usually still addressing him with the more formal 'Daniel', except in particularly emotional or stressful moments. It seems a rather slippery slope, though, much to Lord Sinclair's supposed annoyance.


End file.
